


Favorite Son

by Aini_NuFire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, Castiel Deserves to be Saved, Episode: s11e20 Don't Call Me Shurley, Family, Gen, God shows up, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s11e18 Hell's Angel, Protective Dean Winchester, Season/Series 11, Tortured Castiel, Tortured Lucifer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 08:46:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6747121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coda to 11x18: Amara's plan to get God's attention works.</p><p>Now with follow-up chapter after 11x20</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We all have a pretty good guess about you-know-who, but only tonight's episode will tell for sure (or maybe not, the show could toy with us some more). Anyway, here's a piece I just had to get down. Huge thanks to Miyth and 29Pieces for beta reading and providing input that helped shape this.
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own Supernatural.

The screams were unrelenting. White-hot lightning speared Lucifer's very essence and forked through Castiel, the barrier erected by the archangel to keep him locked down offering no protection. The fire consumed the two angels, melting away one's dominance and control to the point that Castiel felt the rawness in his vessel's throat from them both screaming themselves hoarse. There was no refuge to be found in unconsciousness, either, for Amara's power didn't allow for it. Castiel was flayed; Lucifer was shredded. And the cycle repeated. Over and over again.

_"Why doesn't he come? He's supposed to come!"_

_"Told you…" A wheeze. "Not to…count on it."_

At some point, Castiel felt his grace start to crack. Amara was channeling her power intentionally so as not to kill Lucifer, but the surges that diverted away from the archangel's core skewered Castiel's instead. And he had been in a lot weaker condition to begin with. Fractures split through his mind, his soul. Awareness of who he was and what was happening sifted through the fissures like a sieve.

Lucifer was likely in too much agony to notice, not that it would matter. Should Castiel die, the vessel would become wholly the Devil's, just as it had when Jimmy Novak died and departed for Heaven. Castiel, unfortunately, would not have the same, kind end. He felt pieces of himself slipping away, much like when Naomi had carved into his head and systematically gouged out his memories. He would be dismantled. A dying dwarf star consumed in a neighboring supernova.

_"Stop."_

The searing burn ceased, and Castiel collapsed in on himself. He could feel Lucifer shaking in the vessel, but at this point it was distant, the rumble of an earthquake miles away. Castiel's grace quavered, and he watched trickles of himself dribble out like sediment shaken loose from a flimsy foundation.

_"Look who finally showed up."_

_"Yes, you have my attention."_

Castiel shuddered. Grace crumbled like glittering stardust through incorporeal fingers. Maybe he could float away after all, like dying embers into a night sky, away from the prison of a mortal shell, of pain and gravity. If he could manage to ignore the throbbing and raw burns pulsing through him, it was almost a peaceful kind of death.

_"I knew you would come for your favorite son. Does he still shine as bright as you made him to?"_

A bolt of lightning forked through him, and Castiel felt the vessel's back arch, mouth gaping wide as light exploded from within. His grace spasmed, and Castiel screamed along with his brother.

The torturous fire cut off abruptly, leaving both angels gasping in utter shock. Castiel couldn't move aside from the twitches running through his essence. He felt himself growing heavier, which was strange—with all the pieces he was hemorrhaging, shouldn't he feel lighter?

_"You will not touch him again."_

_"You're pathetic, brother. Here I've been laying waste to your beloved Creation, but it's only for your precious Morningstar that you finally show your face."_

_"You never did understand me, Amara."_

A static pressure built in the air as two opposing forces crackled against each other. Raised voices echoed like thunderclaps, followed by the whomp of explosive power. Castiel tried to curl in on himself further while Lucifer squirmed around him, agitated about whatever was happening outside.

And then one storm vanished with an infuriated snap.

_"Father. I'm…surprised you…came. Didn't know…" A cough. "You still cared."_

_"Be quiet."_

Fingers plunged into his chest, stealing Castiel's breath once again. This time was almost worse, as something doggedly dug into his core and wrapped itself around Lucifer. The archangel tried to retreat, to hide, but there was nowhere to go. Lucifer screamed his murderous rage, which reverberated down through Castiel like nails on a chalkboard. This was finally the end. Lucifer would be destroyed, and Castiel along with him. Expendable collateral. Likely no one knew he was still in here.

The Devil was yanked out, and Castiel suddenly found himself thrust back into the forefront of his vessel, eyes frozen wide open and body violently hitching for desperate breaths. An arm snaked behind his shoulder blades, and Castiel felt himself being carefully lowered to the ground. As a hand cupped his head so it didn't crack on the cement, Castiel gaped in bewilderment at the figure leaning over him. He couldn't see the man's features, for the brilliant glow of Lucifer's grace cast him in a blazing silhouette.

The stranger turned to look at the archangel writhing in his other hand. "I'll deal with you later."

Lucifer's high-pitched whine cut off as he was shoved into a container of some sort. Castiel couldn't tell, for his vision was spotting with white starbursts, his lungs seizing and chest burning. Deep inside he could still feel his grace splintering under the strain.

The figure turned back to him, and Castiel hiccuped with fear. No, please. He was nothing, no one. Just ignore him…

Gentle fingers touched his brow, and a warm breath of air washed over him. Power seeped into his skin and down to his grace, ghosting over the raw wounds and catching the leaking fragments. Slowly and with great care, Castiel felt the invading presence begin to weave the pieces back together, as though it knew exactly where each one fit.

"I know I've put you through a lot," a soft, almost remorseful voice uttered. "And I know you've always tried to do your best. You have and always will be a son after my own heart."

Castiel's chest juddered, his physical body still in shock from all the trauma. His mind was having difficulty processing as well. What was happening? What did they want?

"Shh." A hand settled over his heart, and the one on his forehead moved down to cover his eyes.

Castiel jolted in alarm at the sudden darkness, but the presence beside him sent a soothing echo through his mind.

"Just sleep for now. I have you."

And he did.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have a follow-up chapter! I'd wanted to write it from the start, but was waiting to see what the show did, and then THAT EPISODE. I had to tweak quite a bit to match their portrayal of Chuck yet still flow from the first part. But I really wanted the Winchesters in this, as I always do, lol.

Dean knew the moment Amara had fled the warehouse, for the strange tug that reached all the way into his bones settled down in her absence. Even though Chuck had told him and Sam to wait outside until called for, Dean nevertheless burst into the building in time to see Chuck pull a fistful of blazing energy from Cas’s chest. Dean could only assume based on the high-pitched whine that it was an angel; he just hoped it was Lucifer.

Cas was left gasping for breath, and then Chuck was catching him and lowering him to the floor. Dean watched his best friend jerk as though in a seizure, until Chuck settled his hands on Cas’s chest and face, and suddenly the tremors ceased and Cas went limp. Dean’s heart stuttered.

“What did you do?” he demanded, finally storming over.

Sam followed more warily, sweeping his gaze around. He didn’t have the same instinctual assurance that Dean did concerning Amara.

Chuck rose to his feet. “He’s just sleeping.”

Dean dropped to his knees next to Cas, reaching out to clasp the angel’s shoulder. When Amara had shown Dean how she was torturing Lucifer, he’d gotten a glimpse of Cas burned and bloody, spreadeagled against the rail car like a pinned butterfly. Those wounds were gone now, and Cas looked peacefully asleep.

Except, angels weren’t supposed to sleep.

Dean swallowed. “He’s okay, though?”

Chuck sighed, and glanced at a lantern-like container sitting on the ground to his right. Inside, Lucifer’s grace simmered, patches of the bluish-white grace mottled with gray or dull, pewter knots. “My sister wasn’t kind to them.”

Dean’s stomach twisted, imagining Cas’s grace in similar shape. “So _fix_ him,” he snapped.

Chuck shook his head, actually looking abashed. “It’s not that simple.”

“You’re _God_.” Dean’s voice was rising, and he ignored Sam’s nervous fidgeting. He wasn’t afraid of Chuck smiting him for insolence. He’d had to talk the Almighty into confronting Amara at all. Chuck was a wishy-washy has-been with one foot out the door on this world, but Dean had managed to convince him to finally take some action and at least save Cas.

_“You’ve resurrected him how many times now? That means you must still care about him.”_

_“He chose this, Dean.”_

_“He was trying to help stop Amara! You know, since_ you _wouldn’t show your face.”_

“You’ve brought Cas back before,” Dean continued desperately.

“From Death. That was easy when he was under my payroll. But Amara’s power rivals mine,” Chuck admitted begrudgingly.

Dean gritted his teeth, and looked back down at his unconscious friend. Lucifer couldn’t have treated Cas all that well, either.

“He’ll live, though, right?” Sam finally spoke up.

Chuck stared at Castiel for a prolonged beat. “Yes.”

Dean squeezed Cas’s shoulder. He’d take it. Weakened grace, no grace, human—as long as Cas was alive and back with them, the rest didn’t matter.

Dean bit back a wave of bitterness as he looked up at Chuck again, and tried to put as much sincerity into his tone as he could. “Thank you.”

Amara was still out there, and Dean wasn’t sure Chuck was up to the fight—or if he himself could even resist the hold Amara had over him—but he had Cas back, and that was a start.

“Uh, mind zapping us back to the bunker?” Dean added.

Chuck was still gazing at Cas, and without responding, knelt down next to the unconscious angel. “There is something I can do, at least. Dean, can you prop him up?”

“What?” Dean blinked in confusion as Chuck started pulling Cas upright and pushing him toward Dean, who suddenly found himself with arms full of limp angel. Chuck moved around to Cas’s back.

Dean adjusted his grip, Cas’s head resting against his shoulder. “Uh, what are you doing?”

“Just hold him up like this,” Chuck replied. He spread his hands out over Cas’s shoulder blades.

The space behind Cas rippled like a mirage, and Dean’s breath froze in his lungs as the air bent into a shimmering silhouette, two arcing angles extending out from Castiel’s back. Dean heard Sam suck in a sharp gasp, but he couldn’t even tear his gaze away to exchange a startled look with his brother, for Dean’s attention was riveted on the wispy, shadow-like appendages forking out like bare tree branches.

Not branches, though. Bones. Skeletal wings protruded from Cas’s back, not fully corporeal, but visible enough for Dean to see the raw flesh and few matted feathers clinging to shafts like the last stubborn leaves staving off winter. Bile rose in his throat, and he almost jerked away from the horrific sight mere inches in front of him, but these things were attached to Cas, _were_ Cas.

Dean tightened his arms around his friend, holding the angel closer.

“Did Amara…?” He swallowed hard. He should have stopped this. Should have gotten through to Cas sooner, before Amara had a chance to take Lucifer.

“No,” Chuck said, for once sounding genuinely grieved. “His wings have been broken for a while.”

Dean snapped his head up. “What? Since when?” Cas had never mentioned…dammit, why hadn’t he told them? Dean mentally cursed his best friend—and himself. He knew Cas had a hard time recovering after Rowena’s spell; he should’ve pressed more.

But he never did. And maybe that’s why Cas hadn’t volunteered anything. Plus, it was the Winchester way, to hide perceived weaknesses and pain under a facade of bravado. And Cas learned those things from Dean and Sam.

“Since he got his grace back,” Chuck replied, running a hand down one wing. “It wasn’t whole after what Metatron did to it.”

Now Dean glanced up at Sam, whose throat bobbed as he also processed that tidbit. Cas hadn’t been okay for a long time, then. And neither of them had noticed. Sure, Dean was well on his way down the dark side with the Mark, but that wasn’t an excuse for after. After, when he’d been so overcome with guilt over everything that ignoring was easier than talking about it.

Dean looked back in time to see a golden aura start to glow in Chuck’s palms. Entranced, Dean watched the light pour out like water, swelling as it wrapped around Cas’s broken wings. Chuck moved his hands up slowly, guiding the warm luminescence. Dean’s eyes widened at the sections of wing that began to fill out, flesh and muscle coating brittle bone. Gray shoots sprouted from the bones, fanning out into a mass of onyx black feathers. Though still partially wispy in form, Dean was close enough to see iridescent streaks of indigo and dark teal.

“I made a lot of angels, in the beginning,” Chuck said, almost conversationally. “Too many to keep track of, really. But Castiel…I actually took the time to craft his wings by hand.” There was an undercurrent of nostalgia and remorse in his tone, so much so that Dean thought it almost genuine.

He held his breath as God’s power drew closer to his face, warming his skin like a candle’s flame. But Dean didn’t dare move or risk jostling Cas as Chuck worked his way up one wing, the halo of light in his hands gradually replacing skin and bone with lush, vibrant feathers and strong limbs.

“You were right, Dean,” Chuck admitted softly. “I always knew Castiel was special. I didn’t know just how far he would take things…nor was I thrilled with some of his decisions. But he meant well. And I guess I kept bringing him back because I wasn’t ready to let him go.”

Dean studied Chuck’s face in the aura of golden illumination. Maybe Chuck still cared after all. Maybe it would be enough to rally him to stand up against Amara, to defend the creation he used to love. Or at least the few precious pieces he still did.

Finally, Chuck extinguished the light and rose to his feet, taking a step back to admire his work. Castiel’s wings were huge and robust and whole, spilling out to the sides with the long primaries curling forward and around Dean, almost like a protective canopy. He could hardly breathe in the astonishment of their magnificence.

Nodding in satisfaction, Chuck waved a hand over them, and the air wobbled as the appendages vanished. Dean stared at the empty space where they used to be, and found himself stupidly wondering how Cas was gonna fit in the Impala with huge, invisible wings like that. Though, back when they had first met, the angel had ridden in the backseat or shotgun just fine. It was one of those earthly plane, ethereal plane paradoxes he couldn’t quite wrap his head around.

Dean carefully shifted Cas so the angel was leaning back in the crook of Dean’s arms, even as he tensely felt around Cas’s shoulder blades for some invisible wing spans. There weren’t any, though.

“Cas?” he called, hope clawing at his throat.

“Let him sleep,” Chuck said. “He deserves it.”

Dean had to bite back a protest. He’d rather Cas wake up so he could tell his friend how stupid he was, and how much he was loved. But yeah, he couldn’t argue that Cas had definitely earned some R&R after these past few months.

“What now?” he asked.

Chuck shrugged. “Now I’m entrusting Castiel to your care.”

Dean almost snorted. “Not sure we’re all that good for him,” he muttered, even as the thought of letting Cas go twisted his stomach into knots. He’d do better this time. He _had_ to do better.

Chuck just quirked a knowing smile. “You two are all he’s ever needed.”

Sam finally moved closer and knelt down on the other side of Dean, placing one hand on Cas’s shoulder. The brothers shared a look of resolve, to look after Cas like they should have from the start.

“And Amara?” Dean asked.

Chuck’s shoulders slumped a fraction. “She’s not finished.”

“Are you?” Dean held his gaze for an extra beat, and for a moment it looked as though the all-powerful God was going to duck his head away, but finally Chuck interlocked his fingers and stretched them till they cracked.

“Story’s not over yet.”

“What…” Sam cleared his throat. “What about Lucifer?”

Chuck’s gaze drifted to the dim lantern. “He and I need to have a talk.” Chuck sounded almost sad as he picked up the archangel’s container. “Uh, tell Castiel…the resurrections were never a punishment.”

Dean bristled. “You should tell him yourself. You owe him that.”

Chuck just shrugged, and with a snap of his fingers, the warehouse vanished to be instantly replaced with the familiar concrete walls of the bunker. Dean gritted his teeth, an insult ready on his lips. God would probably hear him, regardless.

He glanced at Sam, who gave him a wan smile before glancing down at Cas lying between them. Together, they lifted their angel off the floor and carried him to his room where he could rest more comfortably. Sam went to get more blankets while Dean propped a pillow under Cas’s head.

“I’m sorry your dad’s a dick,” he whispered. “But he came through for us. For you.” Dean slowly sank onto the edge of the bed, clasping Cas’s forearm to reassure himself they had actually gotten him back.

“Maybe that won’t mean much to you, after everything. But Sam and me are still here, and we’re not going anywhere.” Dean swallowed around a lump compressing his throat. “Promise me you’re not going anywhere, either.”

Cas didn’t respond, of course. Dean didn’t know what shape he’d be in when he woke, but they’d deal with it. Maybe God wasn’t fully ready to step up, but he hadn’t abandoned them, not completely. Chuck cared about Cas, and the Big Man might have tried to deny it or brush it off, but Dean had seen it when Chuck was fixing Cas’s wings. There was still love there.

And that could still save them.


End file.
